The Ressurectionists
by Hrlyqin
Summary: An After The Opera story about life going on. Eventual Grilo.


**The Ressurectionists – A fanfiction in the vein of Repo! The Genetic Opera – by hrlyqin**

**Chapter One**

_This should be something easy. I'm smart and I am pretty. _

_But, out here, in the night, in the black I am nothing. I disappear like a shadow in the dark. _

I leaned over the body one more time. This shouldn't be so difficult. Just like putting a needle through a bug, that's what he had said. But I couldn't do it, not while she was looking at me. If I turned my head, it didn't work, I would probably stab myself, and if I turned her head that didn't work either, it just made it worse.

I took a deep breath and that was a mistake. I had to do this now. Had to make money. Had to eat. It wasn't like she would mind, she wouldn't miss it at all. She'd probably be glad someone was putting her to use. Yeah, that's it. Maybe when this one was alive she had thoughts and feelings and people that loved her, but now she was just a rotting shell and someone might as well...

Well...

I jammed the needle up and in, feeling the wet pop that meant I made it through. Just a little pull and suddenly the night was alive with a bright blue glow. I ran my fingers over it while it flickered. The beautiful blue that meant money for me and maybe some decent food or a warm place to sleep. The glow meant I would be taken care of. Before anyone could spy it, steal it, pry it from me, I stuck the vial and my other equipment in my bag. Then like a flash I was gone.

I ran, and it was joyous. There was nothing better than the wind against my legs and letting my heart beat as fast as it wanted to. No longer infected, I was affected, by everything that I could touch and feel these days. I wanted to run everywhere. I wanted to taste everything. I wanted to know it all.

But first, I had to figure out how to pay the rent.

That Largo, that bastard, he had really put me in a bind, trying to leave me everything. Now with him dead, those fucking brats of his would rip me to pieces if they could. My heart for Luigi to put on his mantle, my face for Pavi to drape on his skin and Amber...I didn't know, maybe she'd want to drink my blood? It didn't matter because as soon as the opera was over, Shilo Wallace disappeared.

I could have gone home, but home to what? Home to lies and memories? Fuck that place. I wanted to understand what made my father do what he did, but I didn't want to live with it. I didn't want it rubbed in my face. The things that I wanted, my clothes, my photos, I didn't want any of it bad enough to go back. So one night on the streets, just trying to stay out of sight. One night became two. Two became three. Nobody seemed to notice me. I stole a new wig off a transvestite passed out in the street, it was short and red and didn't look like me at all. I left my old hair behind so I figured it was a fair trade. Some of the street girls shared their trash can fire with me, someone gave me a little something to eat. No one asked my name or what I was doing out there all by myself. I thought that maybe I could deal with this.

When I say no one noticed, I didn't mean that I was invisible, just that there weren't any questions. Some of the people out on the streets I shrunk away from, knowing they were bad from a mile away, but I discovered some of them were just like me. Out here there were sad women, lonely girls and angry men, just like there were anywhere. One of them, I called her The Ballerina before I knew her name, was warm and sweet and I couldn't understand why she walked the streets instead of sitting at home with a husband and a family. She certainly seemed like a Mom to me.

The first night I really was ignored, invisible, just something to step over. Since no one bothered me, I stuck around for longer. The second night was colder than it had been though and I was curled up against a fire escape, my body shivering as I tried to cover it with newspapers. My hands kept fumbling and really, this wasn't going to work. I got so angry that I kicked out at the wall. Maybe I should go home and face the music, at least it would be warm.

That was when she, The Ballerina, came over and draped a shawl across my shoulders. It was a ratty thing that had once maybe been brocade and was now mostly just mold, but to me it was the finest things in the world and I sucked it up around my body greedily.

"Thank you." I said. I had seen her before. She didn't seem like the others, at least by looks. She was older, even though with all the surgery out there who could say how old anybody was? But she looked like she had been around awhile. Her hair was dark like mine had been, but her eyes were light and kind.

"Come over and share the fire if you get too cold." She said in reply, tilting her head gracefully towards where about a dozen girls hovered in the light of a flaming metal barrel. The way they were dressed, the leather and fishnet and shine, told me what kind of girls they were.

"Oh I couldn't. I mean, I wouldn't want anyone to think..."

She shrugged, both cutting off my words and letting them slide as if I hadn't been worried about being mistaken for a whore like her. "You'd be surprised what you'd do if it gets chilly enough." was what she said before she walked away.

The next day, when I woke up she was there again, sitting next to me and still in last night's clothes. She should have looked like shit, but she looked eloquent. I wondered how she did that.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, seeing me stirring. She offered me a bit of pastry as I sat up, it felt warm and sticky in my fingers. I should refuse, thank her for her kindness and refuse, but I devoured it before I could even think about how good it tasted.

"I guess you were."

"I guess I was." I agreed, taking the whole bun she offered next. "Thank you for the shawl." I said when it was gone. I tried to give it back to her and she shook her head and pushed it back.

"You keep it. You look like you need it."

"I don't need your help."

"It's not help, it's a shawl." she countered.

"Thank you." I said again.

I didn't know why she wanted to protect me. Maybe I reminded her of someone? Maybe someone reminded her of me? I didn't want to let her, I didn't need anything from anyone. Favors and promises just got you screwed over in the end. But I was all by myself and felt so alone. If I had told her to go to hell, I don't know what would have happened to me.

The next night I joined her and the other girls by the fire. From far away, they had looked tough and scary, the flames making their features jump and drip. Up close, they looked human. Most of them were beautiful and all of them were sad. I could see why it was men wanted to sleep with them and I wondered if anyone would ever feel that way about me. These were whores, I knew it, street sluts, but they all moved with such...

Sensual Energy...

That I couldn't help but be envious.

Nobody wanted to know where my parents were. Everyone had a story and nobody wanted to share it. The closest they got to asking me anything was wanting to know what they should call me.

There were six of them that I felt like I knew now. Not my friends, but people that didn't hate me. They knew I didn't trick and that was okay. My Ballerina was named Angel and she been here a long time. She tried to look after everyone the way she looked after me. Then there was Sister, whose mocha skin fascinated me, and Musette, who sang beautifully in the night. Little Lola was new like me and she giddily asked me to paint her nails one day with some polish a trick daddy had given her, she and Cleo talked about coming to the city from somewhere far away. Goldie and Cetrine were together, they still did it with anyone that would pay but after the day was over they had eyes only for each other. It was love and it was beautiful. Those were the girls. It had been Lola who wanted to know my name.

Everyone had looked sideways when she said it. She didn't know not to ask shit like that if someone didn't volunteer it. "What?" She asked, looking at all of them not looking at us. "We gotta call her something."

She had a point, hate to say.

A flash of inspiration struck me. Inspiration that looked to me like the bright blue glow of zydrate held in the hand of a stranger who might have been insane.

"Just call me Kid."


End file.
